But the allure of death draws me in like the rattle of breath,
Cold and whining,
Whining like the creak of brittle beginnings and broken endings.
The winter frost bites the tips of noses and
Fingers twitching like the eye
Of the storm
Once i knew,
Renew,
Rejoice,
They told me
Once I knew, I would be saved.
But the snow has settled. It’s too thick to shovel.
The trees reach bare fingertips to roots once so full of life.
The air crisps, crack like knuckles
Rigid like bones,
Once new,
Fresh like the once gentle flowing river
Now thrashing like the forest fire in the womb of the mountain
Once full. Now empty.
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.